


The Rest of Our Lives

by Sapphy



Series: Fairytale of New York [2]
Category: Constantine (Comic), DCU (Comics), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Developing Relationship, F/M, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Means sometimes fucking up, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/Sapphy
Summary: John's used to having no one to rely on but himself. Zee and Nick are determined to teach him that it doesn't have to be like that





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a response to a Bad Day prompt, which asked for John realising that he can set boundaries and say no and Nick and Zee will still love him.
> 
> Yeah my Nick's from the deep south, whatcha gonna do about it? Honestly, I have no idea where this head cannon came from, but my Nick grew up in a small town on the Louisiana/Texas border, with a foster family. Most of the time you wouldn't know it from his accent, but little bits of it sneak through sometimes.
> 
> Treasure is a directly translation of Tesoro, which is what Zee's dad called her mom.

We finally find him in the laundry room of our building, slouched against one of the dryers, unlit cigarette balanced between his lips. You’re not allowed to smoke down here, but John will always get as far getting a cigarette in his mouth before he remembers that, every time.

He looks pathetic, Nick’s coat just a little too big on him and the pale skin of his belly visible through a hole in his tee. He’s at least wearing his boots, but I know he doesn’t have any socks on and I feel cold just looking at him. The heating in the building’s been fixed, but there’s none down here and the city hasn’t started to really warm up yet, even though the snow has melted.

He glances up briefly when he hears us on the stairs, his eyes taking in our clasped hands and worried expressions and hunches in on himself a little more, staring fixedly at his feet. Nick and I never normally hold hands, but I’d needed some of his strength and he’d needed some of my calm. We’ve been searching for half an hour now, checking in with neighbors John knows and asking the kids hanging about on the stoop if they’d seen him, and I was honestly starting to worry that he’d run, really run. He’d left his things behind, but John’s got no great attachment to possessions, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d started over when things got bad. At least if he’s here, still in the building, a part of him wanted us to find him. If he’d really wanted to get away from us, we’d never have been able to track him down. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, at the exact same time as John snaps out, “Get it over with.”

That’s enough to get him to look up, to let us see his expression, faked blankness doing a bad job of concealing absolute anguish.

“What do you think we’re here for?” I ask, though I think I know. I spent a day at the library after John had first hinted at what had happened in his childhood, reading up on the long term effects of abuse. I like to know what to be on the lookout for with the people I love, and John always has an air of suppressed movement to him, like he’s just waiting for the right moment to run. I'm determined not to be the one to push him away.

“Here to tell me to jog on, yeah?” His voice is rough, like he’s been crying, but there’s no tear tracks on his face. “Make it quick. Please?” His voice cracks on the final word, and my heart breaks a little more. Nick squeezes my hand so tight I feel the bones creak, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.

“We’re not going to dump you, John,” I say, as gently as I can. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

John looks at me then, really looks, his eyes searching my face, probably looking for any sign that I’m lying. I let him, and hope he can see the love and the fear and the worry I’m feeling.

After a long moment he looks away, and then asks in the smallest voice, “You’re not angry with me?”

I can’t resist any longer; I let go of Nick’s hand and wrap John up in a tight hug. He’s trembling slightly, his skin chilled from the cold of the room. “Of course we’re not angry,” I reassure him.

“I mean, my dick’s pretty pissed with you,” Nick says, because he’s an asshole who’s allergic to emotions, and I feel John stiffen in my arms.

I glare at Nick, try to tell him with my eyes alone that we’ve got one chance at this and if we fuck it up we could lose him forever, and apparently it gets through his thick fucking skull, because he blushes and adds quickly, “Which doesn’t matter.”

“You’re allowed to tell us no, John,” I tell him. “As much and as often as you need.”

“Especially me,” Nick says. “I mean, you must have noticed I’m pretty bad at this whole… emotions thing. And I’m the one domming you. I gotta know you’ll say no when you need to.”

I’ve developed some pretty clear, deeply disturbing, images of John’s formative experiences with BDSM, most of which seem to have involved a guy called Geordie Sid who thought pissed sixteen year olds were capable of giving informed consent for pretty hardcore painplay, so I back off enough to look John in the face, holding him by his shoulders, and tell him something I once heard Black Canary yelling at Wildcat, back before I was really old enough to understand what it mean. “Real subs safeword, treasure.”

John slants me a look from under his lashes. “I didn’t though. I told youse t’fuck off and rabbitted.”

His accent always gets stronger when he’s upset, and the k in fuck comes out as a strange glottal sound only identifiable from context.

“Still better than just putting up with it,” Nick says with a shrug. “Next time we’ll talk about limits first, yeah?”

“Next time,” John breathes, like a prayer, and I press a soft kiss to his lips.

“We’ve got time,” I remind him, because John is always in a hurry, always waiting for everything to fall apart. “All the time in the world, treasure.”

“We can learn to do this right,” Nick says, finally coming close enough to touch. “You can show me, alright darlin’?”

John reaches for Nick, and I move aside enough that he can reel him into the hug, clinging to him like he thinks he’s going to disappear.

“We love you,” I tell him, just to make sure he’s understood, “And that means we want you to set boundaries, and tell us when we screw up. We want you to be happy.”

“What she said,” Nick agrees, pressing forward to he can hide his face against John’s hair without it looking like that’s what he’s doing.

“I don’t deserve this,” John says, sounding lost and confused and painfully certain that he shouldn’t be loved.

“No,” Nick tells him, before I can say anything, “You didn’t deserve the first twenty five years of your life. Think of this as the karmic pay off.”

“The world doesn’t work like that.”

“Alright, then think of it this way – when the world gives you good stuff you grab it with both hands even if you don’t think you deserve it, because it might be the only chance you get. And then you fight like hell to hang onto what you’ve got, even if that means talking about shit you don’t wanna talk about.”

It’s not the best philosophy, but it’s something John might understand at least.

“You’ve got to trust us,” I remind him, remind them both. “We’re in this together, till death do us part, and that means trusting each other. And not just in bar fights and dangerous rituals. It means we’ve got to trust each other with our hearts, and our secrets, trust that we’re not going to split at the first sign of trouble.”

“I do,” John says softly. “I do, it’s just… It’s new. It’s different. I’ve never had a relationship like this before. I don’t know how to trust you like that.”

“Then we’ll show you. We’ve got time, John. Talk to us, and trust us as much as you can, and we’ll wait for you to figure the rest out, okay?”

“I know I don’t say it,” Nick says. “But I fuckin' love you. Both of you. So much. And I’d rather never come again than make you uncomfortable like that, yeah?”

“Now now, no need to go that far,” John says, and I can hear the smile in his voice now. The tension seeps out of me, leaving me shaky with relief.

“Fuck,” I say. “Fuck John, I thought we’d lost you.”

“Can’t promise I’ll never run,” he admits. “But I’ll come back in the end. I know when I’m into a good thing, and you two are the best thing to ever happen to me. And if I don’t figure it out? You can come beat some sense into me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nick says, his voice gone husky, and I resist the urge to roll me eyes. Sometimes my boys are so damn predictable.

“Hot shower first,” I remind them, because I’m chilled to the bone and I’ve got warmer clothes on than either of them, Nick in a button down and bare feet, John with Nick’s coat thrown on over his tee. At least I had the sense to put a sweater on. “Shower, food, then all the kinky sex you want, okay?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Nick says, and John smiles at me, his blue eyes wet in a way I know him well enough not to mention.

“Sounds like a good start to the rest of our lives,” he says, and me and Nick both lean in to kiss him at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love


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